Thursday, 24 November 2011

Upon A Feathered Wing

I have been drinking up fairytales as of late. I adore the fairy books of Andrew Lang and recently discovered ‘The Crow’. While it does not fit with my painting, I wanted to share a small excerpt as it reminds me of stories that lull you to sleep on the night of a full moon.

"Once upon a time there were three Princesses who were all three young and beautiful; but the youngest, although she was not fairer than the other two, was the most loveable of them all.

About half a mile from the palace in which they lived there stood a castle, which was uninhabited and almost a ruin, but the garden which surrounded it was a mass of blooming flowers, and in this garden the youngest Princess used often to walk.

One day when she was pacing to and fro under the lime trees, a black crow hopped out of a rose-bush in front of her. The poor beast was all torn and bleeding, and the kind little Princess was quite unhappy about it. When the crow saw this it turned to her and said:

'I am not really a black crow, but an enchanted Prince, who has been doomed to spend his youth in misery. If you only liked, Princess, you could save me. But you would have to say good-bye to all your own people and come and be my constant companion in this ruined castle. There is one habitable room in it, in which there is a golden bed; there you will have to live all by yourself, and don't forget that whatever you may see or hear in the night you must not scream out, for if you give as much as a single cry my sufferings will be doubled.'

The good-natured Princess at once left her home and her family and hurried to the ruined castle, and took possession of the room with the golden bed..."

Tales From The Dryad Forest

You may find me frolicking in the forest, dancing amongst the bluebells or by the sea; exploring caves and watching the waves tumble against the shore.
I like to photograph the world, paint, write and create things, and escape to realms created by storytellers.
I believe in magick and faery tales, myths, folklore and the paranormal.

Online Wanderings

~

Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild,
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping,
than you can understand.

W.B. Yeats ~ The Stolen Child

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.

William Shakespeare ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream

~

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

John Keats ~ La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away ere break of day,
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells...